


In Venti Veritas

by Endangered_Slug



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 'Tis a gift!, F/M, Game of Thrones Secret Santa 2017, Oh and it's a coffee shop AU because those are the BEST (after sharing a bed fics), Plotless shmoop, hi, probably so ooc that you can smack me on the head with the books and I wouldn't even blink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 18:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: Coffee shop AU written for wlntrfell for the Game of Thrones Secret Santa. Contains as much sugary  sweetness as Jaime's Venti double mocha latte.





	In Venti Veritas

Brienne took her coffee from the barista with a polite thank you and shoved her way through a small throng of people waiting for their own orders to a small table by the window, recently vacated by a couple too busy arguing over holiday plans to clean up after themselves. A short, thin man with a shaved head and an intimidating expression reached the table just as she did, but Brienne took advantage of her greater height and longer arms to plop her coffee on the table to claim it. The man eyed her up and down with a frown, but moved on to hover at another table whose occupants were getting ready to leave.

No matter. Brienne had the table and she settled in, first sliding her scarf off, then shrugging out of her warm coat, placing both neatly folded along the back of her chair so they wouldn’t drag on the floor. A quick glance out of the window and another one at her phone to check the time, she sat with a heavy sigh and began her watch.

She was meeting Jaime Too Good For This World Lannister, her colleague and sort of friend and constant pest. She’d swatted flies less annoying than him. But as often as he annoyed her, and as much as she sometimes just wanted to punch that ever-present smirk off his stupidly beautiful face, she liked him too much to do any permanent damage.

They were meeting to go over their schedule for the next year. At least that’s what she thought he meant when he asked her to meet for a coffee. They had been going over which students looked promising enough to scout out for their university men’s and women’s soccer teams, something they did every year around during the winter break. It was most certainly not a date.

She didn’t know what possessed her to agree to meet at the coffee shop instead of the office. Nor could she explain exactly why she took extra effort to look good as she got ready for this department… thing..

Not a date. A casual meeting. For which she’d shaved her legs.

Brienne half expected him to cancel and kept checking her phone for a half-assed text with a poor excuse as to why he couldn’t make it, so sorry, maybe after the new year if he had time. No excuse came and after talking herself out of getting up and leaving (for the butterflies in her stomach had finally stopped their aerial dance and had begun strafing with valyrian steel bullets and it was becoming more uncomfortable to stay than it was to skitter right the hell out of there with her tail between her legs. But she was no coward. She never had been. And so she stayed -- cursing herself for a fool all the while.

It was not a date.

Her patience paid off and she was surprised to see that not only had he shown up, but he was even three minutes early. The sidewalks were packed of course, but Jaime was tall and she could see the red and gold beanie she’d knitted him the Solstace before last -- now a bit thin and faded from wear --  bobbing through the sea of people until he emerged at the crosswalk like a golden god set upon this earth to walk among mortals.

The butterfly strafing had stopped once she’d caught sight of him, but now, as she watched him cross the street in his long, steady strides -- his eyes on the coffee shop and absolutely heedless of the cars turning the corner -- her heart was doing some kind of strange origami ritual that left her almost breathless. No matter, Jaime would probably not let her get a word in edgewise. Liked to hear himself talk, that one.

She hastily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, which promptly flopped back in her face. She kept her hair short because it was easier for her work, but it meant never being able to do anything with it unless she resorted to barrettes, none of which she owned. Jaime had called her a mushroom once after a particularly grueling run had caused it to puff up around her face. She’d kicked his legs out from under him for that, but he went down laughing, his eyes shining brightly up at her until she began laughing too.

He had that effect on people. Well, her.

The door opened with a jangle of bells and in he came along with a few scattered flurries that melted on the damp mat that was supposed to keep people from slipping on the tiles. He didn’t bother looking for her, as if knowing she would never dare stand him up (not a date though). The line was long, but the baristas had a rhythm down and it went fast. She watched a bit resentfully as he ordered coffee without stuttering or having to repeat himself and then the easy way he just looked over at her with his hands in his pockets, as if he’d known all along that she had been there the whole time.

Her breath hitched in her chest when she caught the full brunt of his ridiculous good looks and then cursed at herself because, after all this time, she should have been immune to him by now. Also, he still hadn’t shaved.

Jaime's eyes lit up when he saw her and his smile widened until he looked like he was posing for a toothpaste ad. The butterflies, which had settled down, came out for an encore until it felt like they were performing some sort of kickline on her spleen, damn them. She smiled back -- a thin, shy smile that felt awkward on her face -- because even at his worst, it was impossible to not respond to him. And it had been year since Jaime had been at his worst. Ages since they butted heads and hated each other. Lately, even before the disaster of an office party, he’d been almost at his best. At least Brienne assumed it was his best. Maybe, for her, it was merely his okayest, which was still a vast improvement from his worst.

She smiled until the blush that came with it threatened to set her face on fire and she had to bite her lip -- hard -- because, now that she was looking at all of him, she could see that he was dressed nicely. Too nice. As if he was meeting someone important. Like date important. He looked good in a ruggedly casual way. Probably smelled good, too. He’d give her five minutes of his time before he made his excuses and then… Then she’d wander to the gym where she would run the makeup off her face.

Oh god, she thought when she realized that he’d noticed that she’d made an effort to look, well not pretty -- that was impossible, but presentable. She never wore makeup to work because it was pointless to do so and she hardly ever wore it during the obligatory social functions they were required to attend together.

Well, not _together_ together. But they would both be at the gathering. At the same time. Usually occupying the same three square meters until they could politely leave and they invariably found themselves in some greasy spoon of a diner where she would watch the waitress relentlessly flirt with him while she was ignored. To Jaime's credit, he never flirted back. He was too busy staring at Brienne to flirt with anyone. Finding fault most likely.

Brienne felt a bubble of panic well up. She’d been caught out. She’d dressed up, she’d put on mascara and tinted lip gloss, she’d--

Jaime plopped down on the seat in front of her, startling her out of her panic.

“Morning, wench --ow!”

“Told you not to call me that,” she said, already half-irritated at him. Told him at least twice a day, but when did he ever listen to her?

“You didn’t have to kick me,” he said, sullenly rubbing his shin.

She smiled at him, gleefully. “I know.”

Her smile faded as nervousness hit her again. She looked down at her coffee cup and noticed the pink tint of her lip marks on the rim. It was glaringly obvious that she made an effort and she began to hate herself.

It was not a date, dammit.

“You look nice,” he said, softly.

Brienne’s eyes shot up to his face. Was this a trick? A joke?

“What is it you want?” she asked, warily. The last compliment she’d received had been followed up with a plea to house sit. She hadn’t talked to Hyle ever since. He knew she was allergic to cats.

He blinked at her, confusion flitting across his face. “Do I have to want something?” he asked, leaning forwards with his hands tucked into his lap.

“Venti double mocha latte for Bearded Hotness.” The barista, looking entirely done, sounded resentful for having to repeat the order aloud and the whole cafe went silent to see who in the known world thought so much of themselves.

Jaime’s face brightened. “Be right back.”

The chair’s legs squeaked against the tile and she was greeted to the sight of his taut backside as he went to retrieve his order. The blush that had thankfully faded away returned with a vengeance and she averted her eyes lest she get caught staring. Again.

“I cannot believe you told them that was your name,” she hissed at him when he sat down, his coffee held so that the name written down faced her.

He took a long, loud slurp then carefully licked away the small bit of foam that stuck to his lip. Unwillingly, her eyes followed his tongue then she looked away when she caught his infuriating smirk.

“You’re the one who gave it to me,” he said, like the smug bastard he was. “Bearded Hotness.” He tilted his head, thoughtfully as if he was contemplating the name of his first born.

“I like it,” he said at last. “It’s just so… so… me.” He sat back with a loud, contented sigh, his smirk now grown into a grin that was begging to be slapped off.

Or kissed off.

Or both.

He pulled the knit cap off his head and placed it on the table next to the coffee where Brienne could tell that it was finally beginning to wear out along the band. She’d have to make him another -- same colors but maybe a different pattern this time. Jaime ran a hand through his hair which naturally fell in place as if it had never heard of hat hair or static electricity. Lannister genes were so unfair.

Brienne didn’t answer him. She knew she gave him the nickname. Bearded Hotness, what in the seven hells had she been thinking? She was drunk out of her mind when it happened and it slipped out as fast as the tequila had gone in. Tequila was an awful secret keeper she’d realized too late.

Jaime hadn’t let her live it down ever since and it had been weeks since the faculty party which started it all. But, he also hadn’t picked up a razor. He’d also been letting his hair grow out from the close crop he’d been sporting and, right now, it was doing that floppy, in-his-face thing where he peered at her through the fall of fringe that framed his green eyes --

Brienne hurriedly looked away. For a moment there, for one, tiny fraction of a second, it had almost seemed like… as if Jaime might actually… Well, it was preposterous. Men like him didn’t care for women like her. It was foolish to get her hopes up. There was nothing there.

It was certainly not a date, she repeated to herself as she looked at her carefully manicured nails.

“You still haven’t shaved,” she said, letting her eyes linger for a moment on the way it glinted silver and gold under the light of the coffee shop.

Everywhere people milled about either waiting for their order or lingering to catch up with friends before they left on holiday. Brienne barely noticed them, her world right this very second was filled with Jaime Lannister

He ran a hand over his chin, petting himself. “I trimmed it up a bit,” he confessed. “I think the bearded professor look agrees with me, don’t you?”

“You’re a soccer coach, not a professor,” she said, ignoring his question.

“Work at a university though,” he said with a sly grin. “Some people don’t know the difference.”

Most people were blinded by his natural good looks and charming personality to call him out on his shit, she thought. But she knew he would never actually pose as a professor. He loved his job and loved the team. Still. “Well, I do.”

“I should hope so, Brienne,” he said with a chuckle.

He sat there smiling at her until she felt hot under the collar and really, really uncomfortable. What did he want? Why was he looking at her like that?

“What about you?” he said, finally.

“What about me what?”

“Did you shave? Your legs,” he clarified, his eyes gleaming at her in a way that should be illegal. “Those miles and miles of legs? I bet you go through two razors a week just to keep things smooth.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she sniffed.

“Spoil sport.”

Brienne was getting annoyed now. He always did this. Turned things around to her, asking embarrassing things, pointing out glaring faults that she’d rather not think about. Always watching, always prying. He seemed to want to know every minute detail about her life and it confused her. She knew him well enough by now to allow him into her life. She trusted him, probably too much truth be told. It had been years since they butted heads as enemies. They still butted heads, though now it was more friendly banter than anything truly serious, but what he didn’t know -- even with all his prying and careful surmising and witty remarks -- was that he held a significant piece of her heart in his hand and that was something she wanted to keep close secret. Telling him meant heartbreak and humiliation and an excruciating pain that she didn’t want to go through again.

Besides, she did shave her legs though wild Dothraki stallions couldn’t drag that confession out of her.

“Maybe you should shave before you look like a grizzled prospector,” she retorted.

He grinned wider. “I probably already do. My ancestors were miners in the last century. Why not pay homage to them?”

The whole beard thing had started as one of those Movember events. Not shaving for the whole month in solidarity for… something. To be honest, Brienne didn’t care what it was for. She just kept close watch as his perfect jawline slowly filled in with stubble that grew into a bushy beard which had been sprinkled through with silver. It was surprisingly sexy and the more it grew, the more distracted Brienne got. Until Jaime noticed.

Then the disastrous holiday party where she may have had a bit too much to drink and let her guard down… That was a month ago. She’d barely been able to look at him since.

She took a deep breath then let it out slowly, ashamed of herself. She’d faced down scarier people than Jaime Lannister and came out on top every time. She could do this.

“So,” she began, determined to get things done and over with so she could go home via the gelato shop and wallow with a pint of double chocolate chip and a spoon and her sweatpants encasing her freshly shaven legs. “The prospects for next year’s freshmen--”

Jaime frowned, his forehead wrinkling adorably. “What?”

“The recruits?” she reminded him, glad at last she had something to be annoyed about. It was easy to pretend to be irritated with him because he so often loved to provoke her. This was familiar easy territory. This she could do.  “The people we’re scouting to make our team better and stronger? Honestly, Jaime, we do this every year.”

He blinked at her, the frown deepening until Brienne wanted to reach over and smooth the creases with her fingers.

“Yeah, but… Sorry, I thought we were doing this on Monday as usual.” He began fiddling with his coffee, turning it this way and that until she put her hand on his wrist to get him to stop.

“I thought you wanted to talk about it now.”

He huffed, clearly annoyed. “Why on earth would I want to talk about work on a Saturday?” he asked incredulously.

Brienne was truly confused now. She wanted to draw her hand back, but he’s taken it. Taken her hand in his and she could feel the rough calluses of his palm.

She swallowed, thickly. “Then, why did you ask to meet me here?”

More blinking until Brienne considered the possibility that he was sending a Morse code with his eyelids. But his eyes were shiny and his lips were pressed together in a grim line.

“Jaime? Are you okay?” She squeezed his hand.

That did it. “Are you fucking serious? I thought this was a date! I thought that maybe, after that night…” he glanced up at her, nervously.

“That night?” she prompted softly, her heart feeling ready to burst out of her chest.

“I thought maybe we could finally begin to see each other more,” he thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Intimately.”

Brienne choked. “What?”

Jaime’s eyes widened in shock. “No, not that. Well, yes, eventually. Definitely. Absolutely fuck yes, like that, but for now I mean we could, perhaps, take this… crazy weird thing we have to the next level?”

She stared at him, unable to follow his train of thought. “What’s the next level?” she whispered.

“Well, we’re friends now,” he began.

“Yes?”

“And I thought we’d always stay that way. I mean you never really gave me any hint that you might like to be more than that.”

“Oh?”

“Until…” his smile was back, that crooked smirk that meant he knew he was being irresistible. He used her grip on his hand to pull her forward until he could whisper in her ear. “Bearded Hotness.”

She jerked her head away, too full of past hurts and suppressed hope and Jaime to think clearly. “That’s it?,” she hissed. “One stupid night of drunken ramblings and you think you can what? Play with me? I don’t like these kind of games, Jaime, you know that.”

He sat back, hurt flickering in his eyes. “It’s not a game. I hoped it was something more like in vino veritas. That maybe you needed a bit of Bravos courage to admit you had feelings for me.” He looked away, his mouth a tight line again.

Brienne pulled her hand from his and grabbed the edge of the table, either to push away from it or flip it over his head, she didn’t know, but she needed that bit of hard, cold Formica pressing into her palm to ground her. The whole world had flipped on its axis. Maybe her coffee had been laced with a hallucinogen. That made more sense than this strange confession Jaime was stumbling through.

“So wait, you’re telling me that you, Jaime Lannister -- the same man who, when he first saw me, asked if I was really a woman -- you are telling me that you… _like_ me? Are you drunk? Or is this a bet?” She could feel her face growing redder by the minute. She was embarrassed and ashamed of how eagerly her heart leapt at the chance that he was telling the truth. She wanted to rip it out and throw it into the compost bin for all the good it did her. But she couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not when he looked at her like she meant something to him.

He rolled his eyes, muttering to himself before piercing her with his intense gaze. “No, this is not a fucking bet and I am not fucking drunk,” he growled.

Several people glanced in their direction before turning away again.

“I’m not drunk,” he said again, lowering his voice. “I’m not high. I’m not being paid. I just… I just want…”

“Just say it,” she demanded, ready for the worst.

“You,” he said, quietly.

Or the best.

“You’re serious?”

He groaned in exasperation. “Oh for fu-- Yes! I’m serious. I have been crazy madly in love with you for, how long have we known each other? Five years? Six?”

It had been five years and three months, but who was counting?

“I’ve been an ass, but at least three of those years have been spent in a state of hopeless despair the likes of which I wouldn’t wish on anyone. And now I’m leaping at the chance to be with you on the slim chance that the great Brienne Tarth, queen of the gods damned pitch and bane of my existence might possibly feel the same. Because up until a month ago I had no hope. And then I got a sliver, just a glimpse, and I’m desperate to--” He crumbled up his empty cup and tossed it into the garbage can.

Two points.

He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “In venti veritas. _That_ was the truth and I didn’t need to get drunk to do it.” He looked up at her balefully.

Brienne couldn’t breathe, looking at him. This felt like a dream. Like a movie where the girl got the guy at the end and they lived happily ever after. Things like that didn’t happen to her. They never did. But maybe it was because

“Hopeless despair?” she said, biting back a smile.

He smiled back, a bit ruefully. “The likes of which I wouldn’t wish on anyone,” he repeated.

“That’s being a bit dramatic don’t you think?” The smile was growing until her face felt like it was splitting in half.

“I wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t a little bit dramatic.” He held out his hand, palm up, his eyes pleading with her. “Please tell me if I was just seeing what I wanted to see. I can live with just friends, but I want it to be much more.”

Carefully, she placed her hand back in his and tugged him closer. Her heart was pounding in her throat the the butterflies were back, but she was too lost in his gaze to mind. She had done everything in her power to keep herself from finding happiness --- avoided any semblance of a romantic relationship in order to protect herself. She had the opportunity now. It might be a disaster. She might still wind up heartbroken, but, then, it might be the best thing in the world. She would never know unless she took that leap with him.

His leaned closer until she could practically count his eyelashes. There were gold flecks in his green eyes. Strange how she never noticed before. He smelled of coffee and leather and soap and Jaime.

“You’re good?” he asked, his voice low and rough in her ear.

Brienne nodded.

“Good,” he said before pressing his lips against the corner of her mouth, lingering for a second before kissing her fully.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she kissed him back, yanking him closer by his hair until she couldn’t breathe. His beard scratched at her face and tickled her nose and she loved how it felt against her sensitive skin. Someone made a noise, it may have been Brienne, but she suspected it was him. The sound made her heart leap again, a lightning quick shock that sent shivers all through her body until she was ready to climb over the table and into Jaime’s lap.

There was a smattering of applause and Brienne drew back, her face burning red at being caught out doing something so publicly. She looked ruefully at Jaime who was grinning madly at her.

Brienne was amazed to find herself grinning back.

“Shall we go do something else?” he asked. “Something a bit less public?”

She huffed a laugh and shook her head helplessly. There was no way they were prepared to do anything more than what they had done already, but she had no objections to letting things happen as they will. She reached over and ran her fingers against his beard. Funny how it felt softer against her fingertips than when it was pressed up against her face. “I think I would like that,” she said before getting up.

They pulled on their coats and hats and scarves, then he actually held the door open for her as they left the warmth of the coffee shop, Jaime chattering endlessly about things like tickets and seats and dinner and flowers and getaways... Brienne listened to him half-heartedly. She was busy wondering when exactly would be a good time to answer Jaime’s question about her legs. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, lingering on the silly beard that started this whole thing.

Bearded Hotness indeed.

She’d have it embroidered on his team jacket. Brienne rather thought he’d like that.


End file.
